


Last Chance to Feel Human

by facemyJam



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform, and by that i mean Baze and Chirrut, i made them southern like me so i feel validated when a Star Wars character says y'all, the only non slowburn couple here is the one already married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facemyJam/pseuds/facemyJam
Summary: "Rogue One accounted for!” Jyn calls out and Bodhi can feel his heart clench at that. (He wants to cry, to break down and let out everything he’s been bottling since Galen handed him that holodisk. “May the Force be with you.” Spoken with soft reverence and ghosts in his eyes).“30 odd alive, 26 not likely with 4 in need of dire immersion,” Jed says into his comm. Bodhi’s chest constricts at the number. He hadn’t thought there were so many that had made it. There were more- far too many- left behind, but he hadn’t thought- hadn’t wanted to hope that this many could survive. (They had survived. What kind of dream was this?). (30 odd alive. He never wanted to wake up). He lets his chin rest on his chest and feels a tear slide down his cheek.--Or, the cliched they make it off Scarif and fall in love AU.





	1. You Sure We Ain't Dead?

**Author's Note:**

> I added this story on my phone and the tags wouldn't recognize or let me put K2SO and C3PO as characters, which is very rude. This story will also include OCs, injuries, cuss words, and lots of angst and crushes.

His ears are ringing and his whole body is on fire, his lungs feel like they’ve melted and he’s not exactly sure where his legs are, but he’s standing- a miracle in and of itself. He slowly turns to see the cargo bed of the ship ruined, the blast of the grenade was so hot the metal benches along the sides of the hull were now warped and twisted, a still burning crater in the floor where the bomb detonated.

 

It smelled like something had died in here, and, in truth, he couldn’t tell if something hadn’t. It hurt to move, to breathe, to stand, but the pain was distant compared to his fear and worry. Did the connection go through? Was that small window enough to send the plans through to- to someone, _ any _ one?

 

He goes to move and almost face plants on the cargo bed floor. His right leg screams to the forefront of his mind, his stomach roiling at the pain, and he has to take deep breaths to calm down. He forces himself through the pain, hands burning as they steady him on the smoldering plasteel wall as he limps his way down the ramp. He’s going to need to find a new ship if they’re to get off planet, not trusting this hull to stand up to the crushing vacuum of space. (He doesn’t think about  _ if _ there’s a ‘they’, there has to be a ‘they’, there just  _ has _ to be).

 

He looks out at the landing pad, smoke and flames distorting the view, but he manages to see a ship in the distance. It looks good despite the war that was waged around it and he’s grateful it’s survived so that  _ they _ could as well.

 

He starts to limp-run towards the ship before a cry of pain overwhelms the ringing of his pulse in his ears. He’s still a little disoriented, but he rubs a hand down his face before setting off for a new course. (He ignores the twinges from his shoulder, his side, his legs, his  _ back _ . The pain is everywhere, but that won’t help him save  _ his _ people).

 

He sees her not too far off from the now ruined ship, her face pinched in pain as she holds her own guts in. His stomach roils again, but he tamps it down as best he can. He bends slowly and hooks his arms into her armpits and  _ pulls _ . He can’t leave her here, he brought her to this planet and he’s going to fly her off of it.

 

A grunt to his left shows another Rebel, blood in his eye from a head wound, but otherwise looks in good enough shape. Better than the two of them. The Rebel spots them just as he starts to call and cautiously stands, blaster ready in his good hand- his  _ only _ hand, and makes his way over. He places her feet on the forearm of his bad arm and together they hoble her to the ship. The Rebels blaster is up and steady despite the sweat pouring from him.

 

He vaguely recalls the ship to be a Guardian Class cruiser, not optimal for legroom, but he doesn’t think anyone would complain if it got them out of here. He worries that he can’t hear the sound of fighting and wonders if the grenade damaged his hearing, but then the lady whimpers as they set her down and he has a new worry.

 

If the sounds of the battle are nonexistent, what does that mean for  _ them _ ?

 

He sees another Rebel clutching at a wound, their face taking on all their pain and he runs to them, helps them into the ship. And then he spots another, and then another, and some of the ones he drags inside he doesn’t think their eyes will ever blink again, but this is all he can do.

  
  


He ventures as far from the ship as he dares, pointing out the ship to those who can stand, but then he sees red plasteel armor-  _ Baze _ . His right knee protests as he lands heavily next to Baze’s side, sighing in relief when the man groans at hands shaking him. They help each other up, Baze dazedly leading him to where a console sticks out of the sand, a prone figure not far from there.

 

_ Chirrut _ , he thinks, looking to where another of his team is laid out against the sand. He doesn’t like how still Chirrut is, doesn’t like the slow gush of blood dripping from his head. He stays caught on his feet as Baze kneels next to Chirrut. He’s entranced at the slow waterfall pouring from his head, at the way the sand clumps together with the blood, and suddenly he can’t breathe. Is he- Is Chirrut-

 

A loud clang wakes him from his spiral of thoughts, a short-circuiting KX series droid out of place on the beach and he has to shake his head to restart his brain. K2, Cassian’s friend. He limps over and sees that the droid is barely keeping himself together, his legs gone and his chassis burned with blasterfire.

 

He tries to drag him along like he did the others, but he hears a snap and a scream rips its way out of his throat. He grips his right thigh to find shrapnel sticking out of it, but no other grenades had gone off and it wasn’t there before. He wants to looks down, but Baze is suddenly beside him, Chirrut slumped over one shoulder. Together they drag K2 to the ship, the droid staying online enough to slur out Cassian’s name, his arm swinging around to point in a direction before he shuts down. He thinks he’s taking the droids supposed death harder than anything else.

 

Every step is agony, but he manages to get to the pilot’s seat, grateful he doesn’t have to climb up a ladder to reach the cockpit. (He ignores the repeat of  _ “I’m the pilot.” _ in the back of his mind. Ignores how he can hear  _ “Are you the pilot?” _ in Cassian’s smooth accent before every repeat. Ignores, ignores,  _ ignores _ ).

 

He starts the ship up and flies in the direction where K2 pointed, finding Jyn and Cassian collapsed in front of lapping water. It would look beautiful and serene if not for the impending doom lazily making its way towards them, he thinks as Baze and a random Rebel grab the last of their crew. The ramp is barely locked in place before he punches them to lightspeed, the nuclear, toxic bright sky pushing him into gear.

 

His brain is starting to slow down now that all the viewport shows is black with star streaks, but his hands fly faster than the ship as he tries to compensate for the lack of actual nav computer calculations. (He distantly wonders if they could be seen leaving, if someone would follow, but they are soon to find out anyways).

 

A body comes crashing into the cockpit and he turns to see Jyn clutching against the doorway, a grimace on her face as she steadies herself. She looks like she’s been hit with at least five stim shots, her hair at wild angles, her face peeling with sunburn and a sharp cut above her cheekbone. He can’t even imagine how bad he looks.

 

“Did they make it?” She asks her voice rasping out a desperate plea. He can’t think of anything positive to say.

 

“I-” he tries, but his throat constricts, swallowing convulsively to untangle the knot formed. “I don’t know.” He sees her eyes flicker away in doubt before they land heavily on him, a fire that he doesn’t know how she managed to stoke burning in them.

 

“They had to have,” she states coming fully into the cockpit, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat. “They got through.” He doesn’t know if she’s saying this to him, to herself, or to the line of stars she’s staring at through the transparisteel, but it seems to help.

 

An alarm beeps and he doesn’t know how he does it, but suddenly they are violently dropped out of lightspeed, narrowly missing a dwarf star as he steers them up and over. He sees his hands on the wheel, but he doesn’t remember thinking about how to move them, doesn’t remember thinking about what that alarm mean, doesn’t even remember reacting. He just blinked and suddenly he’s done it. (Is this what Saw meant? Is he losing what was left of him? Even after surviving, against all odds, what surely should have killed him?).

 

“Everything okay up there?” Baze’s voice wafts up to them and he allows Jyn to reply in affirmation.

 

“We  _ are _ okay, aren’t we?” she asks after, her eyes searching his for an answer. He doesn’t know what he gives away but it must’ve been big enough for her to reach over and squeeze his hand. He focuses on that instead of the overload of information overwhelming his brain.

 

“We’re okay,” he whispers fighting down the urge to say it again and again. (It happens in his mind anyway, an echo of  _ “We’re okay.” “We’re okay.” “We’re okay.” “We are okay, aren’t we?” “We’re okay.” _ filling any available space).

 

“Where are we anyways?” Jyn asks turning back to stare out at space, looking for a familiar planet.

 

“I-” he starts as he calls up the nav charts. “Z-Zarracina Sector. I- There wasn’t time to set the coor- coordinates,” he explains feeling embarrassed.

 

She gives him as gentle a smile as she can, waving away is stumbling. “This is pretty fortunate,” she tells him. “We probably wouldn’t have made it back to Yavin with our collective injuries. But luckily enough, one of Saw’s old hideouts is in this sector. Or was, I’m not sure if he blew it up or not, but it’s worth a shot.”

 

“Wh- What?” he asks not sure if he was hearing her correctly. He’d looked her over for injuries as she talked, but he couldn’t tell much other than the obvious scratches on her face. Her clothes were too dark to see what was her blood or a patch of stain.

 

“Head for Vendaxa,” she says. “Saw mainly used it as a stop and go base, so it may still be standing. Should be stocked with some slightly out of date medicine, but it’s better than nothing.” He nods and sets the nav-com on it, focusing on his breathing as he waits for the plotted course.

 

The next drop out of lightspeed is a lot smoother, as five minutes later sees them in atmo, tension draining out of him. Only to flare right back up as his right leg burns. He recalls a piece of shrapnel buried in his thigh, but the landing sequence has him busy so he doesn’t check it over.

 

He opens the cargo hatch, but finds he can’t move from the seat. He’s dreamsilk, fragile and slippery and yet, he’s also the sandrock from his mother’s house on Jedh, sturdy and solid. He’s sand dancing to the winds whims; he’s the desolate pillars of rock on Eadu, pounding under the tantrum of a storm; he’s the footprints on Scarif’s nonexistent beaches. He’s a lot of things and yet, the only the he’s not, is himself.

 

It’s like when he was younger and he broke one of the only two cups they had. He was the loop of the cup falling on the floor, only, as it shatters, it comes together only to shatter again. Over and over he shatters and is never whole for long.

 

A hand taps him on the forearm and he looks up from his knuckle white hands to see Jyn’s concerned face. It looks a little unnatural on her, only because he knows she was formed to be a soldier, hard and strong. He doesn’t know what he was formed to be, doesn’t think whatever formed him was was enough to keep him together.

 

She helps him unbuckle (he doesn’t know when that happened, can’t recall taking the time to strap in) and they stumble against each other in the small cockpit, trying to get their balance.

 

“Three of them didn’t make it,” she tells him her words rushing out, eyes darting over his face to take in whatever emotion he gives away.

 

_ Three of them are already gone. _

 

He’s not sure how to process this information, how to go from a cargo shuttle of 50 odd Rebels, to a prison ship with however many managed to make it aboard-  _ only now with three less _ . He knows the taste of failure well enough to recognize it’s bitter, bile smelling aroma on his tongue.

 

He doesn’t talk as they both lean on each other to make their way down to the ship’s ramp. Stairs, he believes, are impossible for anybody who isn’t 100% healthy. Even the small three that take him from the cockpit to the rest of the ship.

 

He sees three bodies side by side off to one corner, someone had closed their eyes and laid their arms across their stomachs. He’s not familiar with the custom, but he can’t help but feel it’s right that they are displayed like this. (He wants to think they’re sleeping, but there’s no rise to their chests, only fall.  _ Down, down, down, until it is the breath who takes them and not the other way around. _ His mother’s gentle rhythm of claps echoes softly in his head at the sudden remembrance of an old Jedhan Death Chant).

 

He blinks and turns his head from them, seeing several Rebels help those who cannot walk, despite their own injuries. He wonders, if his mind was not numb, would he feel the same urgency that’s in their eyes? In the jagged movements as they help their fellow comrades?

 

Jyn hands him off to a familiar looking man and limps her way to the front of the group to, presumably, type in the access code. He breathes out as the man holding him together breathes in and he’s never felt more out of sync with the Universe.

 

They shuffle in, a line of disorder disappearing into the doorway, spreading out to fade as people go to different parts of the room. The man who has him gently steers him to a shiny durasteel table at the mid center of the room. A look at the man’s face reveals a swollen eye, red and angry, small pieces of shrapnel embedded in his face, dotting around his bad eye looking rather like  a collection of oddly colored moles.

 

He’s left alone for a minute before the man comes back with a stool and a rifled through medkit and he doesn’t know why the man seems to be taking care of him rather than somebody who needs it more. A quick look around the room reveals three more dead, their bodies mimicking the one’s on the ship and he has to swallow down a dry heave.

 

What was the point of allowing him to save them only for them to go back to that beach on Scarif? Why have him that one purpose only to take it away?

 

The man helps him onto the table as he closes his eyes against the reminder of his failure. Only, that makes the thoughts behind his eyelids swirl, his body following in their eddy, so he snaps them back open.

 

“This is going to sting,” the man before him says. He doesn’t know why the man braced him. What could sting more than the sharp stab of overwhelming loss?

 

He flinches anyway, the hand coming for his head briefly blurring together with an image of a searching tentacle, but he steadies himself as best he can and braces for the memories.

 

The man is firmly gentle, hands steady as they dab at the side of his face where he scraped it against the floor in an effort to get away from the blast. He thinks of his own hands and how they’re only steady when they grip the steering yoke of a ship, or when he’s elbow deep in engine parts.

 

Jyn is beside him again, he can feel the heat of her gaze, his hands twitching in his lap. If she’s come to add to the death toll then he doesn’t want to look at her and give something away again. He’s tired of giving things away, of being shattered and everything spilling from his cup.

 

“Do you know how bad it it?” she asks the man instead and he’d grateful for the reprieve.

 

“Not yet, I was just starting on what I could see and handle on my own. I’m no doctor, but even I know how to apply bacta,” the man responds his voice deep and tired.

 

“There’s a doctor we used to call on not too far from here. She’s fast and discreet, which was a plus when Saw used her. I sent Tek and Samir to get her, but it’ll be an hour.” He doesn’t know why she’s saying this to the man, to them, but he thinks it’s because she can’t sit still anymore than he can close his eyes and drift away. “You get checked out yourself?”

 

The man shakes his head a grimace on his face. “Just superficial,” he tells her. A look from Jyn has him smiling. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to cover a dire wound, trust me.” She just nods and his face goes serious. “How many?” he asks and no, no, no, no,  _ no _ , he doesn’t want to hear this. Yet he leans forward a little, his eyes darting to Jyn’s face and then back to the wall in front of him.

 

“Seven,” Jyn grits out, and he can hear her fingers grip tightly into her elbows. He knows she doesn’t like the number. He knows he can’t stand it.

 

The man cusses in a language he’s not familiar with, but he wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment. His eyes slip unwittingly towards the corner to see another body added to the line up. It’s the Rebel who held in her guts as he dragged her to the ship. The small sting of his tears mixing with the bacta makes him turn forcefully away from the image of her bloody hands protectively curled around her stomach wound. He didn’t get to ask her her name.

 

“Bodhi?” Jyn asks and for a moment, he forgets that’s his name. He slowly faces her, afraid that after she takes this from him, that he’ll be empty. “Bodhi, what’s wrong?”

 

“Everything,” he whispers and sees her face crumple but he looks away before he can tell if it’s sympathy or confusion or sadness. He thinks maybe they weren’t meant to survive. Maybe that beach was to be their mausoleum. Her hand squeezes his shoulder and his back spasms as pain shoots through his arm and down his back erupting in fire.

 

“Bodhi?” he hears her ask again, but everything is black and distant.

 

“Help me get his shirt off,” a voice says but he can’t tell who said it.

 

“Bodhi, can you hear me? Stay with me, Bodhi,” the voice demands, no another voice, there’s two voices. He tries, tries to comply, to stay where they want him to be, but it’s hard.

 

In the distance, he sees his mother dancing around their small kitchen humming under her breath. He knows he can’t join her, but he doesn’t really understand why. His hand comes up just to touch her, he just wants to smell the familiar herbs and spices he knows clings to her skin, but he’s met with a wall.

 

_ “Bodhi!” _

 

There’s a tug and he’s suddenly jerked back into his body, his body that’s on fire. He opens his eyes lazily to see Jyn Erso. Erso?  _ Galen _ . Galen who has the same eyes as his daughter. No, that’s wrong, wrong order. Wrong. But his eyes  _ are _ the same as his daughters, filled with the same pain and tiredness.

 

“He has your eyes,” he tells her words slurring together, but it’s important. He wants her to understand this, but- wait, what does he want to figure out?

 

“Okay,” she accepts easily enough and he feels good. “But stay with me.” He wants to, he wants to, he wants to,  _ he wants to _ .

 

“Okay,” he drawls out in a mimic of her, but he doesn’t think he’s got that right because she still looks worried.

 

There’s another tug and then another before his back erupts in flames and suddenly he’s back in the ship, curled in on himself while flames lick over every available surface. He lets out a shout as the tugging continues, hands coming up to clutch at wrists.

 

“Stop,” he grits out. “ _ Stop, stop, stop, stop. _ ” There are more tears streaming down his face, he can feel it. “Stop.” A sharp intake of air comes from his right and a gentle pressure comes to settle on his shoulder blade. He lets out another yell and the pressure leaves, his hands gripping the wrists tightly as pain wracks through him.

 

“His shirt is melted to him,” Jyn says her voice strained. Another gasp and his hands are clutching at air before being enveloped in warmth. He opens his eyes to see small hands clutching his and he follows the arms up to see Jyn looking at him. “Oh, Bodhi,” she whispers and he doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

“How the  _ kriffing hells _ did he drag us all to the ship when he was this bad?” a voice behind him asks, but he’s too tired to turn to see the face that it belongs to.

 

“How long until that doctor gets here?” another asks and Jyn shakes her head.

 

“Maybe too long,” she replies and he doesn’t understand the question. He squeezes her hands as hard as he can and she gives him a gentle smile reaching down to pat his leg.

 

_ “Fuck!” _ he shouts and Jyn jumps a little at the force of his voice.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks but someone else answers her.

 

“Is that his  _ bone _ ?”

 

Jyn looks down and he can see the blood drain from her face.

 

“Well,  _ shebs _ ,” she says. He wants to say,  _ No, that’s my leg _ , but the words escape him. Gentle hands probe rather ungently against his thigh and he emits a yowl of pain that fills the room.

 

“You have her eyes, too,” he tells Baze who comes over to where they are. Baze gives him a long stare before muttering under his breath and walking away back to where Chirrut is laid out.

 

More pain comes and he wonders when he’ll be back in his mother’s kitchen, but then he promised not to go anywhere and his leg hurts too much to walk, so he’s stuck where he is.

 

“It helps if you leave it to the professionals,” an accented voice says from his left and all he can think about is,  _ When had Cassian turned into a woman? _ “Now then, what have we got?” But no, not Cassian, wrong tone, not as soft as Cassian, no warmth.

 

He grabs the hand reaching for him and shakes his head. He wants to tell her to see to the others, he doesn’t want anyone else added to the pile of his failures.

 

“No,” he manages to grunt out. “I need-”

 

“To let me do my job, young man,” Not Cassian tells him interrupting. “I was brought here to patch you up and I’ll be displeased if you or anyone else dies on my watch.” He swallows down his words.

 

“I change my mind,” he says and she nods her head grabbing her bag. “Same warmth,” he finishes her head coming up, a look of confusion on her face before smoothing out to a smile.

 

“I’ll have to change your mind on that, young one,” she says before jabbing him in his leg with a needle. He lets out a grunt of surprise, his mother’s humming becoming clearer with every breath.

 

“Okay,” he drawls out again closing his eyes and keeping them closed.


	2. This 'I Know' Reference Isn't From Here, Though

_ This is for you, Galen. _

 

He wakes to a bright room and the feeling of a hand in his. He’s on his left side and it takes him a minute to see he’s been moved to the floor, Jyn sitting between him and Cassian. He must’ve made a sound because she’s suddenly awake and her eyes are on him.

 

“Bodhi?” she calls out to him their linked hands squeezing tightly.

 

“M- Jyn,” he whispers out stopping himself from calling out for his mother. It was hard to get her singing from his head. She carefully moves him to sit up, her hand never leaving his and he’s grateful yet curious. What did he do to deserve such light treatment?

 

_ (“Can you say you played no part in this?”) _

 

Something hits his lips and he tilts his head back to welcome much needed water. It’s refiltered and it tastes like it, but right now it’s the best thing he’s had in a long time. He drinks the cup dry but doesn’t ask for another, his stomach heavy with the small amount he already drank.

 

When Jyn takes the cup away Bodhi looks down to see his right arm in a crude sling, strapped to his chest to hold it in place. He only thinks,  _ how am I supposed to pilot the ship with only one arm? _ (Galen’s voice stirs back up in his mind.  _ “You know what became of your cargo,” _ he tells Bodhi as a storm rages around them. It’s not said cruelly, simply a fact meant to snap him into reality).

 

“How,” he stops to lick his lips trying to gather the courage to ask. “How many?” is all he manages before his throat closes tight.

 

“There’s about 20 of us,” she tells him eyes glancing around the room. “We would’ve lost more if not for Maite.” She bites her lip not sure how to continue.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks her. “Is- Is everyone-” he can’t bring himself to ask knowing that none of this was okay.

 

“I’m fine, nothing I haven’t had before,” she says a small smile on her face. “Maite said that we could all do with a dip in a bacta tank, but has cleared us as relatively okay as long as we don’t do anything stupid. We’ll survive until we get to where we’re going,” she adds on. She must’ve seen something on his face.

 

“Chirrut?” he presses wanting to know how- if he’s awake, if he’s  _ okay _ . Jyn grimaces.

  
“His hand was mangled pretty bad, but Maite said it should heal just fine. The thing is,” she hesitates here taking a deep breath of air. “He’s- he’s in a coma and hasn’t woken up yet. Maite- she- she can’t tell when he’s gonna wake up.” He hears the  _ if _ . “And what about you, you reckless fool?” Jyn asks changing the subject. “You have a broken leg and a crushed knee cap, second and third degree burns and a dislocated shoulder. What happened to you?”

 

“Thermal detonator,” he whispers eyes flickering down to his feet, seeing it land before him again. It was on a timer, and that had been the only thing to save his life. “How long have I been out?”

 

“A week or so. It’s hard to tell, we’ve been locked in here on Maite’s orders. Not to mention, a herd of Acklay’s has been spotted nearby and tangling with them would be going against her orders of doing something stupid.” He balks at the time that’s been taken from him (though it’s nothing compared to when Saw had him, when-), but focuses on the second part of what she said.

 

“Acklay’s?” he asks trying to recall if he’s heard of them or not.

 

“Trust me,” Jyn says as she lets go of his hand to get to her feet. “You don’t want to get a close up look.” He believes her.

 

“Wh- What happened to- to- to…,” he trails off not knowing how to ask completely. His glance at the spot where the dead Rebels previously were tips Jyn off to what he’s asking though.

 

“We ashed ‘em,” she says. “We couldn’t bring the bodies with us, so we… _ compromised _ .” He can tell she’s not happy about that, knowing that she’s not the compromise sort of person and if he were capable, he’d smile at this. Instead, it just brings to mind an important question.

 

“Who’s going to fly us?” (He doesn’t want to know, not really. He has a feeling they’re not going to let him back in the pilot’s seat, but he doesn’t know who he is if he’s not in it).

 

Jyn lets out a long sigh hand scraping through her hair. “I hate to say it, but you’re the only one of us who’s familiar enough with the ships controls. We would take the planet hopper out back, but it’s too small and old and won’t survive the long trip to Yavin. Tek said she could help, if you tell her how.”

 

“I’ll help, too,” a familiar voice calls out softly and Bodhi turns as much as he can to see the man with gently firm hands. “My depth perception is shot to hell, but I can help.”

 

“Thanks,” Bodhi tells him meaning more than just for his offer to help. The man smiles at him.

 

“Name’s Jed,” he says with a head nod.

 

“Bodhi,” he says back feeling weird to say his own name rather than his occupation. ( _ “Are you the pilot?” “I’m the pilot.” _ )

 

“I know,” Jed tells him. He gets up slowly stretching to shake the others around him awake.

 

“Let’s get you up,” Jyn says bending over him and placing her hands firmly on his elbows. “Slowly.” It hurts, whatever the doctor had given him was wearing off as he moves, his aches coming alive to stop him.

 

He leans heavily on Jyn and his left leg and he feels bad for doing so, but she bears his weight with only a slight grunt. His right leg is stiff as the crutches around it prevent him from bending his knee, so he has to hop-skip-limp his way to the ship with Jyn doing all she can to help.

 

It’s jarring and painful and slow, but they manage to get up the stairs. It’s only as he looks at the pilot’s seat does he realise that it doesn’t have enough legroom for him to keep the brace on his right leg. He can’t drive this ship.

 

“Are you okay?” Jyn asks before he can fully panic. 

 

“There’s not enough legroom,” he points out and she curses in Huttese. “I’ll- I’ll be fine. I’ll manage,” he tells her but she’s not convinced. He sits sideways at the edge of the pilot’s seat and turns slowly until he has one foot under the console and tries not to think about the headache that blooms from the pain in his leg and back.

 

An awful screech splits the air and Jyn looks out the viewport before more Huttese expletives come out of her mouth.

 

“Start her up, we have to move fast,” Jyn yells back at him already running out of the ship. As soon as she’s gone he removes the brace from his knee and forces himself to drag his leg under the console. His throat is raw from his barely controlled screams and his breathing is fast by the time he’s done, but he feels better for sitting properly in the seat.

 

His hand is slow as he starts the ship up, not used to only using the one arm, but he doesn’t think he can handle another second of this position unless he’s consumed with flying them back to Yavin. If he gets them to Yavin, no more of them die. (Until they fly out again on another mission, and another and another until they don’t come back at all).

 

An unfamiliar person runs into the cockpit, her breathing hard as she straps into the co-pilot’s seat.

 

“I’m Tek,” she tells him and he’s thankful for an extra set of hands.

 

“Bodhi,” he says back and wishes he were more comfortable with talking to people.

 

“I know,” Tek says in an echo of Jed and Bodhi blinks in surprise. How does she know his name?

 

“Uh, okay,” he says before there’s shouting behind him and he remembers what he was doing. “Uh, can you flick those three switches and push the red button next to them?” he asks before calling up the nav-com next to him.

 

He and Tek work in relative silence before a loud screech drains the warmth from Bodhi’s blood.

 

“ _ Go, go, go _ !” he hears someone shout and he obeys, both him and Tek simultaneously pushing the steering yokes towards them and down, their take off a little rough and he hears some complaints behind him, but they’re alive.

 

He lets Tek punch them to lightspeed and, after asking her to get in contact with the Alliance, makes himself turn in his seat to put the brace back on. Tek fiddles with the radio for a minute before sighing and getting up out of her seat. Jed replaces her a minute later, sighing as he sinks down into the chair. He takes a beat before reaching for the comm, holding it in one hand and tuning the radio with the other.

 

_ “Identify yourself,” _ a voice states.

 

“Echo-Bravo-Niner-Two-Two-Zed,” Jed says into the comm his weariness transferring into his voice.

 

_ “Jed, that you? Son of a blaster, I thought you were dead!” _

 

“I nearly thought I was, too, Kent,” Jed replies with an easy smile and Bodhi wonders how he can smile at the thought of his own death. “Listen, did it work? Did you- Have you got the plans?”

 

_ “Yeah, we got ‘em alright,” _ Kent replies.  _ “Some green farm boy is going along with the Gold and Red Squadrons tomorrow to act on ‘em.”  _ That’s the best news he’s ever heard in his life.

 

“What green farm boy? I’m gone for a day and you’ve already got someone new on base?”

 

_ “Oh, man! You weren’t here when he and this nerf herding smuggler come in the other day with Princess Leia, who’d been captured by Darth Vader.” _

 

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Bodhi’s glad Jed is just as shocked by this as he is. This whole conversation was giving him whiplash.

 

_ “Yeah, yeah,” _ Kent goes on.  _ “Apparently, she had the plans only to turn around and get captured by old CB himself. But then this greenie just waltzes right into the Death Star and escapes with her and the plans!” _

 

“Why does all the exciting stuff happen when I’m off base nearly dying?” Jed asks and Kents laughter is heard over the receiver.

 

_ “Ah-ah! Look, man-  _ **_druk_ ** _ , it was good to find out you’re alive, but I gotta report this. How many of you are there?” _ Jed gives Bodhi a look, but he doesn’t know what it means.

 

“Tell Will to unbunch before they get permanently wedged up there,” Jed says before turning around in his seat. “I need a headcount!” He shouts to the cabin.

 

“Seven from Blue!” A voice calls out to him.

 

“Nine from Tau!”

 

“Five from Kron!”

 

“Four from Rho!”

 

“Rogue One accounted for!” Jyn calls out and Bodhi can feel his heart clench at that. (He wants to cry, to break down and let out everything he’s been bottling since Galen handed him that holodisk.  _ “May the Force be with you.” _ Spoken with soft reverence and ghosts in his eyes).

 

“30 odd alive, 26 not likely with 4 in need of dire immersion,” Jed says into his comm. Bodhi’s chest constricts at the number. He hadn’t thought there were so many that had made it. There were more- far too many- left behind, but he hadn’t thought- hadn’t wanted to hope that this many could survive. (They had s _ urvived _ . What kind of dream was this?). (30 odd  _ alive _ . He never wanted to wake up). He lets his chin rest on his chest and feels a tear slide down his cheek.

 

_ “Copy that,” _ Kent grits out into the receiver, the sounds of struggling overheard as he talks.  _ “What’s your ETA? I know of a certain general who’s just itching to make your lives miserable enough to wish you were dead.” _

 

Jed turns to him and he stumbles through the calculations, looking at the nav-com before giving his answer.

 

“T-Two days, give or take,” he stutters out.

 

“You hear that?” Jed asks.

 

_ “Two days, copy. Who’s that with you? Sounds a might twitchy.” _

 

“That’s the man that saved my life,” Jed says and Bodhi tries not to flinch. “Names Bodhi Rook.”

 

_ “The Imperial Defector? Well, hey, if he’s listening, I owe ‘im a crate of cratershine for saving your sorry hide.” _

 

“What’s he gonna do with 30 crates of cratershine?” Jed asks and Bodhi feels himself twitch at that. He doesn’t want their thanks, he doesn’t deserve it. He flew them there, to their deaths. Just because they didn’t die didn’t mean he was absolved.

 

_ “Make us one hell of a party after greenie and crew get back from blowing the Death Star to smithereens,” _ Kent replies smoothly and Jed snorts.

 

“You’ll celebrate anything,” Jed says with an eye roll, a smile on his face that softens the horrid red of his eye.

 

_ “Damn shabbing right I will!” _

 

“Okay, laserbrain, I’m signing off, I gotta get some shut eye to keep myself fresh for my grand welcome home.”   
  
_ “Oh, it’ll be _ **_grand_ ** _ , alright,”  _ Kent says before coughing.  _ “Roger, roger,” _ comes a minute later his voice more professional.

 

“We’ll be coming in an Imp-”   
  
“Oh, right,” Jed says interrupting Bodhi. “We’re in an Imperial Ship, so don’t go shooting us out of the sky.”

 

_ “Copy that, Rogue One,” _ Kent says before the line goes dead. Jed turns off the radio from their end, too, grunting as he stands. 

 

“Back to you, Tek.”

 

“You seem eager to sleep on the floor,” Tek teases a smirk on her face.

 

“Well, if you’d have called that small slip of a thing you bedded back, you would be right along side me,” Jed teases right back. Tek mock glares at him, playfully bumping their shoulders together as they pass each other by on the stairs.

 

“After this, I’ll have my fair share of ‘small slip of a thing’s’,” Tek tells him before turning her back on him and stepping fully into the cockpit.

 

Bodhi chances a brief glance at Jyn when Jed clears the doorway to see her watching him from a seat nearby.

 

“They have the plans,” he tells her, his voice echoing to fill the ship. He hears a few whoops of cheer, but Jyn’s eyes hold his. They lose some of that pain she had shown. She nods slowly and a smile shows faintly on her face. Bodhi nods back, his eyes darting to where Cassian is laid out with his head in her lap. He would look peacefully asleep if it weren’t for the pinch of his brow. Even in sleep he was in pain.

 

K2 sits on the floor at Cassian’s feet, his circuits sparking slightly like he, too, were dreaming of the nightmare they had just left behind.

 

Bodhi’s leg twinges and he tries to focus on the console before him, on the rough fabric under his hands. He can feel the compartment blurring and he tries to force down his nausea. He’s the pilot, he’s the pilot, he’s the pilot,  _ he’s the pilot. _

 

It’s not working, though. He’s not properly seated and it still feels like everything is shrinking, leaving him to fill up the space and he can’t breathe. Tek sneezes and the spell is broken. His lungs fill with air and his eyes clear, the cockpit going back to its correct dimensions. He can do this, he’s the pilot, he can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with cratershine, it's like space moonshine, ya'know?  
> Anyways, I was lazy and didn't want to research Huttese insults to add to this later, so here ya go.  
> Also, a lot of this was in the first draft and I edited it to be longer and (at least in my opinion) better with more dialogue and such, so if there is a typo, please, I've read this section at least 14 times trying to get it to this, so just SHHHHHHH!  
> THANK!
> 
> (SIDENOTE: What is WITH the spacing on here? Like, I see it and I want you to know that this is not my decision to have it this way. I mean, I'd fix it, but I am tired rn and updating is like, the only effort I wanna make right now, even typing upper case I's is challenging rn.... but just know, I also don't want the spacing to be the way that it is, so keep that in mind while reading.)
> 
> Also, CB is something the Imps call Darth Vader. It stands for Chronic Bronchitis and i thought that was hilarious whwn i found that out. I mean, Darth Vader is this feared Jedi person and gis own people have a funny nickname for him! I had to use it, vuz you know a rebel spy heard that and it took off within the Alliance. Like, imagine Darth Vader trying to interrogate some rebel and them just snorting everytime he breathes cuz they can't get his stupid nickname out of their head.


	3. Four to the Knee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but i mean, i almost uploaded chapter 2 again on accident, so you're welcome i was doing a last minute combover to see if there were any mistakes and realized i had already posted that one.
> 
> Also, sorry for taking so long. I have been having MAJOR writer's block and i haven't written anything since beginning of April. so posting this is me giving myself a kick in the pants. I wanna finish this, i wanna write this story because i like this story, but sitting down to write has been hard, y'all.
> 
> Anywhosits, here's chapter 3! Enjoy!

He somehow manages to make his way out of the cockpit by himself a couple of hours later, Tek familiar enough with the ships controls to take over while they were still in hyperspace. He hops his way to an empty patch of floor and looks around to see the faces of those who had survived. Three are awake that he’s not familiar with and they stare at him from their spot on the floor. He doesn’t know what to do with the emotion in their eyes.

 

He looks over to see more sleeping in the corner and guesses all the squadrons split up as best they could to count off. All of them are covered in gauze and the stench of bacta is strong, but they’re alive and breathing. ( _ 30 odd alive _ , he still can’t believe it even as he looks them all over and counts. Over and over until the numbers refuse to make sense).

 

Off to his left he can see a stack of seven boxes with names scribbled on them. Jyn had said they cremated the remains, he just hadn’t thought they would be given their own corner. Seven people had never looked so small and yet so big. He’ll carry them back, he think as he looks them over. Like he was supposed to, it’ll be his burden to bear.

 

“All will be well, little brother,” Baze tells him softly and Bodhi looks over to see the man sitting stiffly against the wall, Chirrut cradled in his arms.

 

“I thought you didn’t believe,” he says. Baze chuckles.

 

“I may call him a fool, but it was me who’s been one. I lost my way,” Baze confides eyes darting down as if the confession would be enough to wake Chirrut. He doesn’t know why Baze is telling him this, doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain.

 

He thinks of his childish dream of being a starfighter pilot and wonders how he got from there to here.  _ Galen _ . If it weren’t for Galen looking  _ at _ him instead of  _ past _ him like every other officer, would he be among the dead on Jedha or Eadu?

 

“Me, too,” Bodhi says eyes bottom heavy with unshed tears he doesn’t deserve to release. ( _ “Can you say you played no part in this?”  _ Galen, who had his daughter’s eyes, full of pain and sorrow and an eternal fire). (He’s only glad they survived so he can tell her about him, about the man who made Bodhi strong enough to look past his fear).

 

“Me, too,” Jyn whispers from her spot and he looks over to see her lightly stroking the hair from Cassian’s face. ( _ “What do you know? We don’t all have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about something.” “You’re not the only one who lost everything. Some of us just decided to do something about it.” _ )

 

He’s wanted a chance to be left to sort out his thoughts, but now that he has that opportunity, he can’t remember the order. He was whole and broken on Jedha, where he won’t ever be able to go back. ( _ “There is no horizon.” _ ). His mother’s kitchen, her small garden of green against the ever present brown, the street where he played with friends, the alley he got arrested in, the other alley he got arrested in, the courtyard he had his first kiss in- it was all gone now. 

 

Was that his fault? ( _ “You know what become of your cargo.” _ ). He knew what his cargo was for, he knew the rumors and the whispers and the outright spoken facts. He  _ knew _ , and yet, he decided to keep his head down. Be the good little grunt and carried out the lifeblood of his planet for a giant that would crush him without remorse.

 

He knew the truth, that the Empire will take and take and  _ take _ without asking permission or apologies. He knew the destruction they brought to Jedha, how they bled his city dry and still wanted more. So, yes, it  _ was _ his fault. His and Galen’s.

 

“You took off the brace,” a scolding voice cuts through his thoughts. He looks up to see the doctor.

 

“What?” He’s thrown off by the harshness of her glare.

 

“You took off the brace,” she repeats. “Are you stupid?”

 

He doesn’t know how to reply, a laugh bubbling up out of him before he can stop it.

 

“I guess,” he says with a shrug. “I had to, to fly properly.” His explanation just irritates her further. She tsks as she kneels beside him, opening her bag and rifling through it.

 

“Well, if you take it off again, I’m going to strap down your other arm and drug you heavily,” she warns. He gives her a smile.

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes and he can see he’s thrown her off.

 

“Time for shots,” she tells him ignoring his apology as she pulls out four syringes and he balks.

 

“A-Are those all for m-me?”

 

She gives him a grin. “Still think I’m warm?” He nods and her grin turns into a pout. “I’ll get you to think otherwise soon enough.” She pulls back his pant leg and he has to look away, not wanting to see the damage.

 

“I- I never got your name,” he asks to focus on something other than him not focusing on his leg.

 

“Maite Vell, at your service,” she tells him. “This may sting a bit.”

 

“Actually, I’d prefer it if you didn’t warn me,” he says with a gulp.

 

“Noted.”

 

“I’m Bodhi,” he says as the seconds pass and he has yet to feel anything. A second later something jabs into the flesh of his knee and he grunts.

 

“I know,” she tells him working her fingers up his thigh, pressing gently against his muscles. Another quick jab and he manages not to do anything other than jump a little in his seat. He hears a slapping noise and wonders what she’s doing to him, but before he can look she’s pushing him down. “Okay, your knee’s numb, get on your stomach.”

 

“What?” He asks but complies.

 

“Do you not feel the burns on your back?” she asks him her voice tinged with worry.

 

“Well, I do  _ now _ ,” he says as he tries not to irritate his back trying to find a comfortable way to lay with his arm tied to him. And he’s grateful he hadn’t really felt his back before because flying with what feels like liquid fire dancing across his back would’ve been impossible.

 

“Good,” she notes and he guesses she’s talking to herself as she slowly peels his shirt from his back. He can feel the bacta-tape removed from his skin and grits his jaw so he doesn’t shout to wake the others up. There’s another jab to the back of his thigh, but he’s too immersed in not letting out his pain that he hardly feels it. 

 

He has to force himself to breathe, slowly, and the in and out motion soothes him a little as she applies more bacta-tape. The space between his shoulder blades feels odd and hurts in a different way, but he puts that out of his mind as his head drifts closer to the floor.

 

The fourth jab has him humming along with his mother, rolling his forehead back and forth along the floor until he can’t do anything more than give in to the heavy blackness.


	4. Short and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This'll get the heart pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry i haven't been updating consistently. I'm in this weird phase where i have the ideas and all, but no motivation to write and then all of a sudden, they'll switch so i have the motivation and no idea where to take this story. This is what happens when i decide to wing it and don't really have a set ending to work towards, but don't worry, imma get there.

The proximity alarm wakes him, but it was Tek calling out for him that made him move. Maite helped him to the cockpit and he straps into the pilot’s seat as best he can.

 

“What the kriff?” Tek asks as she looks at the computer readings. Bodhi takes a look at the readings and wants to curse, too.

 

“We got this,” He tells Tek giving her a smile that he doesn’t quite feel. She gives him a shaky one back and hesitantly drops them out of hyperspace.

 

“Chaos take me!” Tek shouts as she tries to navigate them around a piece of space debris flying at them.

 

“Watch the-!” Bodhi tries to warn, but the unmistakable sound of durasteel scraping durasteel cuts him off. The crash has his right leg come alive and he breathes out a harsh breath. “ _ Droyk _ , this is bad.”

 

“We’re-”

 

“I know!” Bodhi shouts before using his mouth to take off the sling on his arm. “We’re gonna have to shut off the fuel valve.” He banks them left and then swiftly pulls up and over, trying to avoid another hit. “I’ll need you to do that. Can you do that for me?” He looks over to see her panicking. “Tek! Can you do that?”

 

“Yes,” she says firmly after a minute of gathering herself. “Tell me what to do.”

 

“On your right there should be a small panel of switches and buttons.”   
  
“Found it!”

 

“Good, now, I need you to turn the blue ones all off,” He grits out as he barrel rolls. He hears shouting behind him. “Everyone brace yourselves!” 

 

“Thanks for the warning!” Jyn shouts back to him.

 

“Someone tie that damn droid down before it kills us all!”

 

“They’re off,” Tek tells him. “Now what?”

 

“Now, we wait until we’re close enough to the planet.”   
  
“And then?”

 

“And then we pray we have enough fuel left in the lines to make it past atmo,” He tells her.

 

“Wait,” Maite calls from behind him and he had forgotten she was there. “What’s going on?” He can hear her breathing hard.

 

“When we were hit, one of our fuel tanks got hit, we were leaking fuel,” Bodhi says softly. 

 

“We couldn’t have the fuel exposed when we entered atmo, or else we’d blow up,” Tek adds.

 

“And- And what about  _ after _ ?” Maite asks.

 

“When we’ve fully cleared atmo, Tek will need to switch it back on,” Bodhi says hoping he comes off casual, and not like their lives depended on Tek and timing. A giant piece of rubble moves into view. “ _ Frak _ !” He has to yank hard at the steering yoke, his shoulder and back protesting the movement.

 

“Oh, Maker help me,” Maite groans out. “Please tell me we’ve cleared the debris field.”

 

Bodhi grunts out confirmation, all his concentration on entry level and if they had cut the line off in time to avoid blowing up. Tek and Maite make several abortive throw up sounds, but he’s glad neither of them actually spew.

 

“Get ready,” he tells Tek. The transparisteel turns red with the friction of reentry and he makes a silent prayer that nothing else goes wrong.

 

“Oh, Maker,” she replies hand covering her mouth.

 

“Now, you’ll need to pump the lever five times in ten second intervals for five times,” he explains and she looks at him exasperatedly. “A bit like CPR,” he adds.

 

_ “Who the kriffing hell designed these Maker forsaken ships?” _

 

“Someone who never pulled this off before,” he shoots back a grin on his face despite the circumstances. He used to love pulling these types of stunts when he was a kid. (He remembers not being able to sit down for a whole week after one such incident, his mother scowling every time he so much as _ looked _ at a ship).

 

“Now?” Tek asks as she sees them start to level off.

 

“One more second,” Bodhi says as he struggles with the yoke, the ship wanting to dive nose first at the planet. “We need to coast first.”

 

“I should’ve stayed in the cabin,” Maite complains. “ _ Hells _ , I should’ve stayed on  _ Vendaxa _ !”

 

“And miss all this excitement?” Bodhi asks her. He nods to Tek who immediately focuses on the small lever pump.

 

“They couldn’t have placed this thing in an easier location?” She grunts out.

 

“We’re gonna need that fuel soon,” Bodhi tells her what feels like minutes later as he watches the altitude indicator drop steadily.

 

“Give me a second,” she pants out. “Done!”

 

“Now press the big green button!”

 

Bodhi can feel the engines come alive beneath him. Maite, Tek, and him all sigh in relief as he guides them as smoothly as he can to the landing pad. He can feel himself vibrate as the ship shuts off, it dropping the several feet to the ground, the engines dead after only five minutes after being turned back on.

 

He finally registers the slew of complaints being shouted up to them and he looks over to Tek, her face sweaty and red and he starts to laugh. She joins in as the realisation sinks in. They made it. ( _ “30 odd alive.” _ ).

 

Maite fusses over him as she helps him out of the cockpit, tittering to herself as she drags him outside the ship.

 

“You took off your sling,” she tells him.

 

“S’rry,” he slurs out feeling like he was shutting down, too. “Next time I’ll-”

 

“Next time,” Maite interrupts scoffing. “If this happens again I’m going to hand you off to a less competent doctor and be done with you.”

 

“Whoa!” Jed calls out hands up as several beings surround them with blaster.

 

“Identify yourself!” One demands.

 

“Echo-Bravo-Niner-Two-Two-Zed!” Jed shouts back.

 

The one who talked whispers something into his comm. A minute later he motions for the rest of the others to lower their blasters.

 

“What’s happening?” Jyn asks swaying slightly as she holds Cassian against her. The Rebel in charge held up a finger as a ship made its way towards them.

 

“Get in,” he demands motioning with the blaster at his side. “We’re evacuating.”   
  
“Evacuating?” Jed asks as he readily follows after the Rebel. “Why?”

 

The Rebel points to their wrecked ship. “You didn’t get that from just any Imp ship, you know,” he tells them. He bangs on the hull wall after the last of them limp into the ship. “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.”

 

All the breath in Bodhi’s body leaves him and he searches for Jyn, his grip tightening on Maite. Jyn’s eyes lock on his and he can see the confusion, the wild hope that’s echoing in him. He blinks and she’s lost in the chaos of the crowd, everyone trying to come to terms with what was said. Maite sits him down on the floor and the coolness of it sinks into him. He’s in shock, can tell the symptoms from when Saw had him. ( _ “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.” _ Said so casually like it wasn’t the biggest threat to the Galaxy since the Empire rose to power.  _ “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.”  _ As if it turning to ash and rubble were as easy as breathing.  _ “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.”  _ As if it wouldn’t still haunt his dreams, a hanging weight on his chest that would never leave.  _ “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.” _ ).

 

“I really didn’t think it could be stopped,” Jed says to Bodhi’s left. Bodhi turns to see the shock on his face, his one good eye darting back and forth but seeing nothing as he processes. He lifts a hand before clutching it into a fist. “I really didn’t think it could be stopped.”

 

“Me neither,” Bodhi admits. Jed looks up, startled and Bodhi knows that look well. It was what he felt when he looked out the viewport at his home, to see a dirt hand reach its way up from Jedha as if to grab at the machine moon hanging coldly before it. It was the disbelief of facts, the way a mind can shut down or disconnect with certain truths. ( _ “That’s all that’s left of the Death Star.” _ ).

 

“I really didn’t think,” Jed says again before shaking his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, raise your hand if you'd like a snippet type story with a different universe where Jyn is captured by white cape dude- the snippets part is just cuz i would be too lazy to write all the little pieces of the fic i have into a giant one, wo you'd get bits and odds, that'll hopefully make sense when i sort them out. Any questions about that odd sentence? Ask me please!


	5. Eight Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you know in Brooklyn Nine-Nine when Holt was placed in charge of writing that captain dude that replaced hims eulogy or whatever??? Yeah? Then it's that drunk sentence he gave to Terry. Here's a reminder if you can't remember:
> 
> "PAAAAIIIIINNNNN." That's it, that's all I got.

Maite dragged him to the medbay despite being offered a gurney several times and even with her durasteel grip on his arm, he felt grateful for her going to all the trouble. Due to the rough landing and rough entry, Bodhi felt like his right leg and shoulder were just bright spots of pain and he was just glad that whatever painkiller Maite used on his back was still working.

 

“He needs a bacta tank,” Maite tells a med-droid, who beeps a location before drifting away to assist someone else. “You there, help me with him!” She shouts at a nurse, but it was getting harder to pay attention to details as the adrenaline left him and was replaced with an aching tiredness that seeped into his bones.

 

What was left of his shirt was cut away and he probably would’ve felt at least some embarrassment of being mostly naked in front of two strangers if not for his back shouting out in pain, or was that him making that noise? It was just a wall of acid-fire where his shirt came away from his skin, his stomach turning at the amount of pain coursing through him.

 

“Shush, now, young one,” Maite says, though it sounds like she’s far off in the distance to him. Through his tears he can see concern line her face even as her hands push and pull at him.

 

“So-r-ry,” he grits out forcing down the bile that’s coating the back of his throat.

 

“Hush,” Maite tells him again as she sets him in the tank. “All you need to focus on is getting better so that I don’t have to deal with you. Let’s give him 50cc’s of that Nyex.” She says the last part to the nurse. He feels something jab into his shoulder, but he’s pleasantly floating by the time the bacta starts to fill the tank.

  
  


 

It feels like years later that he’s being pulled out of the empty blackness his mind went to while immersed, where everything was blissfully numb and mute, but it was only two days. And then began the shuffle from operating room to bacta tank to hospital bed to bacta tank to operating room and back again as they work on his knee and back. He felt a little like some mad scientists experiment with all the back and forth, like some holo-drama he’d seen on the ‘net where they rebuilt a human with droid parts or something.

 

Which wasn’t far from the truth with him, seeing as how his knee cap was, apparently, a “shattered mess” according to Maite and was replaced with a durasteel one that would help with the bending and unbending of his knee. The back of his right arm was so severely burnt that they placed durasteel rods in to help support what was left of the bone. He could hear the whirring of machinery every time he moved his arm and didn’t know how to feel about it just yet. 

 

She also said a bunch of other insults that he was too high to comprehend wheeling him away to the med bay to recuperate from his latest surgery on his back.

 

Jyn and Baze greeted him when he arrived and he felt a little better for having seen them after not being able to do anything but lay in a bacta tank or on a surgery table. Now he could lay in a bed, but at least familiar faces were there.

 

“Oh, he’s got the good stuff,” Jyn says with a grin.

 

Bodhi looks down at his hands and frowns. “I’m not holding anything,” he tells her, which just makes her laugh.

  
  


He wakes later to a massive headache and the echo of Jyn’s laughter, which seems like something he dreamed. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he can’t understand why his legs felt distant from his body.

 

“Bodhi?” Jyn asks as he struggles to sit up. “Here, let me.”

 

Jyn helps him like she did on Vendaxa, although only the Maker knows how long ago that was. It felt like it took years to get to this point and he can’t quite figure out how his toe itched and yet felt numb at the same time.

 

Even the refiltered water tasted the same, stale and the finest quality water he’s ever had. Bodhi’s sick of feeling like this, there was a heavy weight upon him, dragging him down and holding him to this place. He looks over to see Cassian laying in a bed next to him, Chirrut mimicking his position on the opposite side of the room. Baze was sat in opposition to Jyn, both mirroring the other in their concern for who they were next to.

 

Bodhi looks over to the empty stool next to his bed and tries to blot out the ghost of his mother sitting there, gentle smile on her face as she smoothed his hair back, murmuring soothing words just like every time he had ever gotten sick.

 

His hands shake as he pours himself more water, his thoughts going by too fast for him to process. He drains several cupfuls of water before he stops.

 

“Was I given Nyex?” He asks the air.

 

“I think so,” Jyn answers after a minute. “Why?”

 

“Ah, that explains it,” He says before the shakes overtake him.

 

“Bodhi!” A hand on his shoulder. “ _ Someone get in here _ !”

 

**_“Bodhi!”_** That sounded like his mother and suddenly he was thirteen, shrouded in itchy red clothes, a clutch of flimsy jasmine strands sticking out of his fist.

 

The grave before him was simple, the name delicately etched upon it the only thing to differentiate the rock from all the others piled under it. Mother always did like simplicity.

 

His throat hurt from him forcing himself to sing, he wanted Mother to be sent off properly. The words were foreign on his lips, but he did not falter. His tears made the sand beneath him clump together, but still he sang, this was the last thing he had left to give to her.

 

**_“Roll him on three!”_ ** He curled in on himself, the dishes of well wishers had long since been licked clean and now that they had moved on, he was left alone.

 

**_“One,”_ ** The first day after he stayed beside her grave. He couldn’t make himself let go of the jasmine, couldn’t make himself give up on the hope that she’d rise again despite the song of only  _ down, down, down, the breath taking them. _ His throat was raw from grief and song and he knew it would never fade.

 

**_“Two,”_ ** He left the food to pile up in a corner of their small kitchen, his stomach not wanting to eat despite it making noise for him to do so. His was still wearing his red clothes, them having gone stiff with sand and sweat, but if he took them off then it would mean it was over and he wasn’t ready for it to be over. He would wear these clothes his whole life just to make sure of it.

 

**_“Three!”_ ** A yank to the right and he was shoved against the sandstone wall. He hadn’t really wanted to steal, but this was the only way to make money now that he was alone, not that that would sway the Stormtrooper who was cuffing him. It was no use to struggle, he knew from watching others just where that got him. 

 

In the end he wasn’t worth the time to fill out the holo-doc, kicked back out to the streets a few hours later with more bruises than shirt. Just another day in Jedha.

 

**_“Bodhi! If you die on me I swear to all the gods that are out there I will come after you! You can’t leave now! Not now! Not after all this! Bodhi!”_ **

 

Galen smiled at him sadly, the storm raging around him quiet despite the pounding surge it gives to the stone beneath them. He knows what became of his cargo, he can see that Galen does too, by the look in his eyes. No, wrong eyes. Wrong fire hidden beneath them. Whose eyes were these, then? And how could they still burn even after all that has happened in the Galaxy?

 

**“Frakking** **_Maker, just give me something that won’t kill him!”_ **

 

The storm had moved from pounding on the stone to pounding on his chest. Over and over again, but it was never satisfied. He looked down to see blood on his hands, him slipping in the mud as he tried to carry her to the ship. Her cries echoed in his mind and he couldn’t even tell if she was crying or if it was the rain running down her cheeks. Her hands were also red, but she had an odd number of fingers. 

 

No, not fingers, guts. Her stomach was blasted open, he could tell, could smell the cooked edges of burnt skin. She was struggling to keep them close to her, hindered by him slipping in the mud, but he couldn’t help it, the rain was too thick to keep anything dry. He tried to watch his step, but that wasn’t mud beneath his boots. 

 

Fallen Rebels littered the ground, squelching under his boots as he stepped, dying everything in their blood. She slipped from his grasp, and try as he might, she fell to the ground, Rebel hands grabbing at her intestines and pulling, pulling, pulling, unravelling them until she was pulled under the bodies. 

 

But the hands weren’t sated with just one victim caught, one hand snaking its way up his leg and grabbing for the hole in his thigh. It yanked him to his knees and he couldn’t do anything but stay still, he knew what happened to those who struggled.

 

**_“Bodhi!”_ **

 

He looked up to see another hand, but this one wasn’t covered in blood. It was almost translucent in color, turning just so in the light to show it was made of Kyber. He knew he had to grab the hand, had to save what little Kyber that was left from the Empire, but it was hard. He sunk a little further down, but the Kyber hand never wavered. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know which way to go, up or down? Stay with those who had fallen, or rise to protect what little he could?

 

He yanked his arm free, shoulder burning as he did so. He couldn’t quit now, not when he still had so much left to do. He stretched as far as the hands would let him, reached out with all his might, and  _ Force dammit _ , he would  _ struggle _ to get what he wanted. His fingers brushed against those made of Kyber and the world shifted, ground became ceiling, the hands no longer having a hold on him. He looked back as he fell and saw her, her stomach was empty, but her blood painted lips were smiling at him.

 

His eyes closed and all around him was black, a gentle humming beep in the background lulling him to sleep.

  
  


 

He woke to voices overlapping each other, as if a whole platoon of soldiers were crowding in a small room. He felt raw and broken, slapped together with plas-tape and held steady with shims. He stayed lying there, eyes closed, trying to pull himself together. 

 

It soon grew to be too much, however. Too many voices, too many emotions, too many sensations of pain and fire. He forced his eyes open, turning towards the voices to see a pile of people at his bedside. They were all packed in together as if to occupy the same spot, multiple conversations taking place, and altogether a jumble of chaos.

 

For some reason all that came out of him seeing this was laughter. It bubbled up inside of him, scaring those in the huddle, them turning as one to look at him.

 

“You almost die and what do you do on waking?” He looks over on the other side of his bed to see a scolding Maite, which just makes him giggle. It scares him, the laughing, but he can’t seem to stop. It was just all so funny to him, and he didn’t know why.

 

“Is he okay?” he hears someone whisper and that makes him stop short.

 

_ Is he okay? _ He hasn’t been okay in years, not since before he went to pick his mother some jasmine.

 

“Down, down, down,” he sings in a whisper to himself before making a move to sit up. It was like all he did was either lay down or sit up now.

 

“The Nyex should clear his system within the hour,” Maite tells whoever asked.

 

“How long was I gone for?” Bodhi asks as he sets himself against the back of his bed. It had gelled packs of bacta for his burned back, and he was grateful for their cooling relief.

 

“You were out for nearly three days,” Maite tells him. He shakes his head.

 

“No, I mean,” He licks his lips, “How long did I crash for?”

 

Maite takes a harsh breath in, staring at him for a solid minute before turning to the chart in her hand.

 

“Eight minutes,” she says in a rush, slapping the chart down on the table next to his bed. That’s when he notices he’s been moved to a new room.

 

“I’ve got a window,” he notices, looking at the dizzying streak of stars blurring past the transparisteel.

 

“Would you give us the room, please?” Maite asks the others. “I’ve already let you stay far past visiting time anyways.” The crowd shuffles off with low grumbles and it’s then that he recognizes the faces. Jed, Tek, Samir, Pavre- it was the Rebels he brought back.

 

He watches them leave, Jed and Tek lingering as long as they could, but all they did was stare at him, as if they were trying to determine something for themselves.

 

“Wh-”

 

“Why did you never tell me you were deathly allergic to Nyex?” Maite talks over him, her voice harsh, but her eyes soft.

 

“I-” Bodhi searches for words but he can’t really explain it. He had been too focused on flying, on his pain, on the Death Star, to even think of Nyex. “It’s on my ‘tags.” He reaches for the necklace they had been hanging on, but it wasn’t there. “Oh.”

 

“‘Oh?’ Oh, what?”

 

“They’re gone,” he tells her panic coming upon him. He couldn’t lose those, he would get in so much trouble if he ordered another pa- “Wait, I’m not on Eadu.” He looks over to the window again and it confirms his statement. “I’ve never been given a window room before.”

 

“Bodhi, I know you’ve just been poisoned, but I need you to stay with me here,” Maite tells him, heaving a huge sigh.

 

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he says before he remembers. “Oh, you said eight minutes. But don’t worry, I’ve been gone for longer. It’s okay, though, I always come back.” 

 

“Lon- You’ve been gone for longer than eight minutes before?”

 

Bodhi nods his head slowly as it was rather heavy.

 

“I hate the side effects,” he tells her scratching his nose.

 

“How many times?” she asks him and he doesn’t understand.

 

“How many?”

 

“How many times have you been poisoned with Nyex?” Bodhi scrunches his face up as he thinks.

 

“Three? Four? No, no, no, four was now. Three?”

 

Maite sighs again, patting his hand in a rather lovely way.

 

“I should let you rest some more.”

 

“Side effects suck,” he agrees, nodding his head again. “Could you find my ‘tags?” He asks as she leaves, already closing his eyes and slipping back into sleep before she can answer him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a way to come back to this, huh?
> 
> Don't worry, though, this was the part that I had trouble writing, but I have like, at least the next two chapters done already, with just them needing like, editing and minor adjustments. Also don't worry, because Bodhi gets better! I just wanted to expand on his AU backstory first!
> 
> Any questions? Ask me!

**Author's Note:**

> Shebs is a Mandalorian swear meaning "buttocks." It appears in "Republic Commando: Hard Contact" by Karen Traviss. >excerpt taken from thoughtco.com


End file.
